


in the dark of the night

by sinspiration



Series: dusk to dawn [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Keith/OMC is VERY MINOR but, M/M, Mates, Vampire Keith (Voltron), Werewolf Shiro (Voltron), age gap isn't a huge part of the fic but it does exist, but Shiro isn't creepy (he swears!!), poor Keith spends a lot of this terrified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-05 18:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinspiration/pseuds/sinspiration
Summary: Keith’s laugh is incredulous and on the edge of hysterical. “What do you mean 'what’s wrong?' I’m trapped in some wolf’s fucking den!”Shiro holds his hands up, as if to placate. “Of course you’re not trapped. I can take you home–”“I’m not showing you where I live!”Shiro has the gall to look hurt. “Why not?”“Why–” Keith sputters. “Wow. Okay. Okay, you’re actually insane. I’ve been kidnapped by an insane wolf.Fuck.”





	in the dark of the night

**Author's Note:**

> For a Halloween Spooky Exchange! Kai, you're my secret spooker. I hope you like what I did with your prompts!

Keith is twenty-three years old. 

He has been twenty-three for twenty-three years and seven months. And he is sick of people asking how old he is.

“No, but…” the guy’s voice is hushed. “How long have you been… _ you know?” _

Keith tries not to glare, because he doesn’t want to scare this guy off. He’s determined to only feed from the willing, but people who are aware of the supernatural aren’t so easy to come by and Keith doesn’t drain dry--refuses to even come close, so he only gets a mouthful at a time. 

He’s starving, and this guy is a warlock and picked Keith out in the crowd to approach him, and Keith just needs to put up with this long enough to eat and move on. Or give the guy whatever he wants in return, eat, and move on. 

Usually it’s a sex thing, and he’s getting the strong feeling that’s what this one wants too. It’s only ever not been a sex thing one time, with a pixie who’d wanted Keith to scare off an ex-boyfriend in return for a vial of blood, already bottled. It doesn’t make Keith any less inclined to glare, but he’s hungry, not proud. “Long enough,” he says, trying to make it sound more mysterious and less exhausted. Two years, and the ‘stuck at one age forever’ is a myth. He just ages more slowly, about one year in ten, and the healing factor means old-age ailments aren’t an issue. The potential to live for a long, long time is definitely a possibility.

But right now Keith is twenty-three and tired.

The guy’s eyes gleam and he grins. Keith tries to smirk back, dropping his fangs to reveal just a hint of them, which the guy instantly hones in on. Perfect. He’s interested and that’s all Keith needs.

“Want to get out of here?”

Yes. Yes, Keith does.

They go back to the guy’s place. Keith has no interest in letting any of his one-nighters know where he lives, and he figures that if any of them turn out to be murderers or something, well, he knew how to fight even before he was turned. Now he just has the addition of teeth and claws that can go sharper in an instant, as well as superhuman strength and speed.

It’s nothing as dramatic as that, though. The guy whispers some nonsense about equivalent exchange and how pretty his mouth is as he thumbs at Keith’s lip, and Keith takes the hint. 

After the guys comes in his mouth, he offers Keith his wrist, eyes going pleased and dazed when Keith latches on. Keith sags a little at the burst of blood in his mouth, because finally _ finally, _ but he forces himself to focus on how much he takes, licking the bite wound closed after only a few swallows. He makes to pull away, but the guy fists a hand in his hair. “Not going to take any more?” He sounds disappointed and no less dazed.

Keith doesn’t snarl, but only just. He’s still hungry, his meal only taking the edge off, not nearly enough to leave him satiated, and he doesn’t have the patience to deal with a junkie. “Not tonight.”

The guy’s eyes darken. “I’ll give you my number for if you want more later.”

Huh. Okay, that’s… hm. 

He doesn’t know how he feels about repeats, but it is not a bad idea to have the option in his back pocket. Then again, does he really want to get involved with a junkie?

In the end he puts both the guy’s number and address in his phone before he heads for the door. Nothing wrong with having the information, just in case.

It’s barely after three in the morning as Keith lets himself out of the guy’s apartment. Plenty of time to go out again and try to find someone else. 

The thought is so tempting. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to not be hungry. He was hungry before he was turned, growing up on too little, trying to get by, and being turned only made food even harder to come by. And he’s very aware that being hungry is dangerous. If he doesn’t keep himself on a tight leash, things could go very badly very fast.

But if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s weathering the bad. And there’s a reason he doesn’t try to feed more than every few days. There’s always the chance of attracting the wrong kind of attention. Being what he is, especially alone, without a clan for help or backup, he tempts fate everytime he goes out to try to find a meal. There are plenty of people out there in the world just looking for an excuse to put him down.

Keith doesn’t think he deserves to be hated just for existing, but it’s not as if life was fair to him even before he was turned.

He shivers as he makes his home, curling his arms around himself in an attempt to warm up. Undernourished goes hand in hand with being cold all the time, even if it’s not a very chilly evening for October. He’s looking forward to going back to his apartment and his couch and his pile of blankets. Maybe he’ll make himself something hot to drink. Sometimes that helps him feel a little less empty, and the warmth would do him good. He’s got three new transcription projects waiting, and he could spend the rest of the night knocking those out before going to bed. Transcription doesn’t pay the best, but he’s good at it and he works fast, so he’s able to cover all his expenses with just the projects he’s assigned through his company. It’s perfect really, having a work-from-home job where he can make his own hours. And it’s not as though he needs extra money for food.

He does use batteries however, and he’d almost forgotten that he’d needed to pick some up. No time like the present, though, so he makes a pit stop at a gas station’s all-night convenience store. 

There’s one lone car at the pump, the owner’s back to him as he pumps his gas. Ever aware of his surroundings, Keith absently notices the muscular build of him, the closely-shorn silver hair that’s easy to see in the dark. 

The wind shifts, and a scent suddenly hits him. It smells like sunlight and woodsmoke and _ home _, and the want that overtakes him is so fierce that his knees almost buckle. It’s overwhelming, and the desperation to find out where it’s coming from and go to it is terrifying.

The warlock maybe? Did he cast a spell on him? It wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried to take magical control. Whatever it is, if it so badly wants Keith to follow blindly, then he needs to get as much distance as possible while he can still think. 

So he books it.

After several minutes of running the scent fades enough that he slows to a walk. He’s still uneasy, but he needs to conserve his energy in case he has to defend himself. There’s an itch under his skin, like something is watching him.

He stops to look around and sees nothing, but his spine tingles, hyper aware that something still feels off. Wrong. Like he isn’t where he should be. Like he shouldn’t be alone.

That’s certainly true, he thinks, as he rubs his arms and walks a little more. The feeling only gets worse. His ears buzz, trying to pick up extraneous sound and he stills again, certain that he can hear an echo of footsteps.

Nothing.

Keith takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, working to calm down. Maybe he’s just keyed up. Over sensitive. It’s helped him survive, but it also has the tendency to make him an anxious ball of stress. Especially by himself at night. He’s supposed to be the fearsome one, but he is very aware that there are other things out there much more dangerous than he is. 

He stands on the sidewalk, frozen. He wants to go home. But he doesn’t want to lead whatever might be out there to where he sleeps.

There’s a yearning not to be alone. He’s felt it before, but never with this level of emptiness. 

It would be better to be somewhere with people anyway. Safer. The more witnesses around, the less likely he is to be a target.

Keith already knows of every 24-hour establishment in the area, so he changes direction to head to one of the diners. He walks quickly, eyes constantly scanning, ears pricked, arms loose at his sides.

He gets to the diner without incident, gets a booth close to the door and by a window and orders a coffee to nurse. The waitress brings it over then leaves him be, and Keith mulls over his options. He has several hours before he has to start worrying about daybreak and there are a few places around where he could kill time. Even once dawn hits...there’s a superstore not too far away. It’d be easy enough to spend the rest of the day there until sundown, and with it being October, the day would be short. He could even buy himself some clothes. Then, once it was evening, he could just head to the chain gym he’s a member of to shower and change. The local library doesn’t close until eight and he works almost entirely in the cloud so he could get some work done, too. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pulled an all-nighter to keep himself in public places, around people, safe. Worst case scenario, he could even find a quiet corner of the library to take a nap. He’s done that too.

For now though, he can stay where he is, at least for a while. It’s good that he just ate, because it means that he’s bought himself more time to appear normal and unthreatening.

He finishes his coffee and orders a hot chocolate--no whipped cream, thank you, he can handle cocoa and sugars and most flavorings, but that much pure dairy isn’t good for him--and resigns himself to a long day.

-

A long couple of days.

Two days of him hopping from diner to superstore to library to gym, catching sleep in corners and getting increasingly antsy. The feeling of being watched lessens occasionally for a few hours at a time, but just when he starts thinking he might be safe, that whatever it is might have moved on, it comes back again, making his skin prickle. The scent and the want that comes with it also comes and goes, always on the edge of his senses and making him feel empty and forlorn. 

He’s exhausted and strung out and even worse; the stress of being constantly vigilant has zapped his energy enough that the hunger has reared its head again, sooner than it should have.

But he can’t go home and he certainly can’t go looking for someone to feed from, and at this point he’s not sure what to do, but he’s terrified. 

He’s back at the diner, staring blearily down at a cup of coffee, when footsteps approach his booth. Electricity licks up his spine as the now-familiar scent floods his nose, as desire to belong fills his entire being, and he jerks his head up, then _ up, _his own wide eyes meeting the gaze of a devastatingly handsome man with a shock of silver hair and a scar across the bridge of his nose. God, he's--he's huge, tall and muscular, and his crossed arms only emphasis his biceps, outlined underneath his long-sleeved shirt. The aura of power rolling off him is unmistakable, and oh shit, fuck, this is it, this is what he’s been sensing. This is what has been stalking him.

Keith shrinks back in his seat, fighting the impulse to reach out to this stranger. His instincts are at war, both screaming at him not to trust and aching to be touched. He has the presence of mind not to hiss, but only just. He’s cornered and weak and confused, at every disadvantage, and he doesn’t know what this guy wants but it can’t be good.

It hits him then. _ Wolf. _ He can smell the power in the man’s blood, can sense the strength of the shift, and his terror ratchets up another notch. He’s met a few wolves in his time. Some were fine and lacked prejudice. Others made it clear that they didn’t take kindly to people like Keith.

The man slides into the seat across from him without preamble and Keith’s breath hitches. He could run, but he knows it wouldn’t go any good. Better not to anyway. The longer he’s able to stay in a public place, the longer he stays safe. He hopes.

The waitress approaches, cheerfully asking the stranger if he wants anything, and the man doesn’t even look at her as he orders a coffee, voice a deceivingly pleasant rumble. He hasn’t looked away from Keith since their eyes met, focused in a way that makes Keith’s heart pound. He feels trapped, like prey that’s been hunted, staring down the predator that’s about to go for his throat. 

Worse, he almost wants to be devoured.

The waitress comes back with a mug of coffee and a pot, setting the mug down in front of the wolf before topping up Keith’s own cup. She seems to pick up on the tension and bustles away quickly, gone again before Keith can summon up the thought to plead for help, as though that would do any good. 

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and snaps his gaze back to the wolf, who has leaned forward in his seat, reaching for him. Keith flinches back, fully pressed against the old vinyl of the booth and with nowhere else to go. It hurts to avoid the man’s touch; he fairly emanates warmth and comfort and that's--that's _ wrong. _ His breath comes in quick, shaky pants and he knows he's panicking, might be hyperventilating, but he’s been stalked for two days and now he can't even control his own instincts. This is bad.

The wolf can't do anything to him here. Not now, not out in the open like this. But at some point Keith’s going to have to leave the diner. And he has no doubts he'll be followed.

The wolf eyes him, dropping his hand to the tabletop. "My name is Shiro," he says, voice low and serious. 

Keith swallows, wrapping his trembling fingers around his mug. Is this one of those things where he's supposed to know the name of the person who kills him? “Okay.”

“What’s your name?”

Keith nervously licks his lips, wincing as the wolf--as Shiro--tracks the movement. Shit, did he show fang? Has he just given Shiro more reason to do… whatever terrible thing he’s got planned?

“Your name,” Shiro says again, reaching forward once more. 

There’s something desperate in his facial expression, and Keith snatches his hands back before Shiro can make contact. “Keith,” he croaks.

Shiro nods, lips pulling back in the mockery of a smile. Keith hates that it only makes him look more attractive, hates that on anyone else the expression could be read as friendly and not intimidating. “Keith,” he rumbles sounding altogether too pleased. But then his expression clouds. “You haven’t been going home.”

“W-what?” 

“You haven’t been going home,” Shiro repeats darkly. “You’re exhausted. Why isn’t your clan taking care of you?”

“I don’t have a clan,” Keith blurts, bewilderment momentarily taking the place of fear. And anyway, Shiro is the reason Keith hasn’t been going home. Of course Shiro has to know that. Keith isn’t dumb enough to lead a wolf to his den. But he isn’t about to say that out loud. “I don’t have anyone.” 

In response to that, Shiro _ snarls. _

Keith doesn’t think--he leaps to his feet and bolts out of the diner. It’s only once he’s cleared the door and can hear footsteps pounding behind him that he realizes how fucking stupid he is. It’s nearing one in the morning, no one’s around, he practically invited the wolf to chase him, and he’s just admitted that backup won’t be coming.

He is absolutely going to die.

Not without a fight though, and so he ducks into an alley and puts his back against the wall, dropping his fangs and letting his claws come out as Shiro saunters toward him. “I’m not going to be an easy kill,” he hisses. But even as he says it, he wobbles where he stands. A sudden burst of activity after two days of high-stress, no food, and little sleep… he blinks spots out of his eyes as Shiro moves closer.

Keith swipes at him. “Don’t touch me,” he spits. “Leave me alone!”

Shiro frowns, and if Keith didn't know better, he'd say the wolf looks puzzled as well as upset. "You're afraid of me."

"Fuck you! I'm not the stalker here. I was minding my own business. I wasn't--I wasn't hurting anybody." God, he's so hungry he feels sick, and it's making it hard to focus.

“Stalker?” Shiro takes another step forward, still frowning and Keith swipes at him again, trying to maintain the distance.

“Stay away from me!”

And then there's an inhuman blur and Shiro is right there in front of him, each of his huge hands closed around Keith's wrists. “Don’t waste your energy.”

Keith jerks back on instinct, slams his head against the brick, and his vision goes dark. The last thing he sees is Shiro's eyes widening in what hilariously looks like concern.

-

Keith swims to consciousness through cotton-candy darkness, still alive and even more panicked. He remembers _ “don’t waste your energy” _ like a taunt, and how fast Shiro moved and how easily he’d gotten the advantage–

He’s not dead yet. He doesn't want to think about why.

But his head is pounding and his whole body aches from trying to heal without the reserves to do it properly. His limbs feel like deadweight. At least he’s warm.

Warm, body resting against something giving off heat, surrounded by that intoxicating scent. His head is pillowed against gentle movement, a soft rise and fall, and he can hear a heartbeat. It’s… it’s comforting in a way he’s never experienced before. A rhythm that sounds like safety, so close and so _ strong– _

His own heart leaps into his throat as his eyes pop open, squinting shut again as he winces at the bright lights. Something warm and heavy and alive settles over the top part of his face. A hand, he realizes, frozen solid. A hand covering his eyes.

“Open slowly,” a voice murmurs. Knuckles stroke down his cheek as the hand pulls away.

Keith shudders at both the voice and the touch and cracks his eyes open again. He promptly stops breathing.

He’s in an unfamiliar room. It looks like a living room, from what little he can see of it from where he is.

And where he is… is on a plush couch, mostly pulled into Shiro’s lap. Shiro’s got an arm wrapped around him, Keith’s cheek pressed to his chest, and as Keith tries to process this, tries to process how he somehow feels _ protected _ even amid the fear, Shiro reaches out with his free hand.

Keith lets out a strangled noise, flinching back with nowhere to go, but Shiro only gently brushes some hair out of Keith’s face.

“Shhh, you’re okay. I’m here. I’m here for you, Keith.” A quiet sigh, and then Shiro--it has to be a smile, but it’s so soft that it can’t… the wolf can’t possibly be smiling at him like that. “I’m here now. I found you.”

_ What does that mean? _ Keith desperately wants to ask. He nearly opens his mouth to do so, but he’s hit with another wave of hunger-induced nausea. He whimpers despite himself, fingers flexing in Shiro’s shirt. He’s hungry and hurting and disoriented, at this wolf’s mercy, and he doesn't understand what’s going on.

Shiro’s face darkens. “You’re starving,” he says, voice hard. But before Keith’s hackles can rise any higher, Shiro’s expression smooths into something else, something so close to tenderness that it makes Keith’s breath catch. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

_ Baby? _ Keith thinks hysterically before a warm wrist, pulse strong and tempting, presses against his lips.

His eyes must look like saucers as they dart up to look at Shiro’s face. “I can–?” the question is a tiny, breathy thing, slightly muffled by Shiro’s wrist, and asking it has him mouthing at the skin. Fuck, he already knows it would taste so good.

Shiro nods. “Go on, drink as much as you need.” His lips curl up, proud and satisfied. “I heal fast. You won’t have to worry about going hungry again.”

Keith is only so strong, and right now he’s not even that. With another whimper, he drops his fangs and sinks them into Shiro’s wrist. 

The first burst of blood tastes like fire without pain, so hot and bright and strong that he almost tears up. It floods his mouth and is so, so good, and he drinks greedily, big, gulping mouthfuls before his head clears enough for him to realize what he’s doing and how much he’s taken. He’s starting to come to the realization that Shiro maybe doesn’t want him dead, and if that’s the case, Keith really doesn’t want to drain him dry. Just the thought of taking away all that warmth and life makes his stomach sour.

He pulls away to lick the bite closed, only for Shiro to cup the back of his head. “You need more. Don’t stop until you’re full. It’s okay. You won’t hurt me.”

Full? Keith hasn’t been full in years. Shiro doesn’t know what he’s saying.

But when Keith turns incredulous eyes on him, Shiro isn’t dazed and bite-drunk. Even though Keith knows he’s already taken more than he usually does, Shiro seems wholly unaffected. He’s focused, expression serious but still somehow soft, and his complexion is still colorful and healthy, not pallid from blood loss. In fact, he looks energized somehow. If Keith concentrates he can actually sense the increased strength and adrenaline coursing through Shiro’s veins. 

He looks back down at Shiro’s wrist. The bite wound has healed closed all on its own.

Of course. Werewolf healing factor. Shiro’s body can regenerate the blood lost almost as fast as Keith can drink it. Keith really couldn’t hurt him, like this. And Shiro is just offering it up.

It’s too good to resist, the thought of being able to eat as much as he needs. He latches back on again, unable to stop the moan that escapes him. He’s never had something that tastes like this. Distantly he hears Shiro praising him and threading fingers through his hair and it’s so much– near-overwhelming positive stimuli in a way he’s never experienced before.

This time, when he pulls away with a gasp, his head is clear and he doesn’t hurt and he feels so filled to the brim with warmth and light that he wouldn’t be surprised to be shining. He’s also still curled up in Shiro’s lap, and Shiro is stroking his hair and smiling down at him.

“There you go,” he says quietly. “That was so good, sweetheart. How do you feel?”

“Better,” Keith says shakily, flushing at the praise against his will. “Thanks.”

Shiro ducks his head to nuzzle against Keith's temple. "Anytime you need it," he says, lips pressed to Keith's cheek. "I'm here now. I'll take care of you, baby."

His instinct is to tuck his face into the crook of Shiro's neck, not to bite but just to relish feeling good, feeling safe in Shiro's arms, and the thought is so foreign that it's as good as being doused in cold water. Because this is– this is wrong. There's no reason for Shiro to be holding him like something precious and calling him pet names and-and feeding him–certainly no reason for Keith to trust him– 

Shiro stalked him for two days and now Keith is in what might be his actual den, and the wolf may be acting sweet but they don't _ know _ each other. Keith is still prey here. He can’t forget that, no matter how handsome Shiro is, or how good he tastes, or how nice it feels to be surrounded by him. He needs to find out what Shiro wants, not get Stockholm-syndromed into docility.

He’s still tired, but he’s stronger now, no longer sick from hunger. It gives him the speed to pull away, up and across the room before Shiro can react. He won’t run again, because he can’t stand the thought of being hunted down like a prey animal, but he’ll fight as dirty as he needs to.

Except Shiro doesn’t lunge forward. He stays where he is, expression bewildered. “Keith? What’s wrong?”

Keith’s laugh is incredulous and on the edge of hysterical. “What do you mean 'what’s wrong?' I’m trapped in some wolf’s fucking den!”

Shiro holds his hands up, as if to placate. “Of course you’re not trapped. I can take you home–”

“I’m not showing you where I live!”

Shiro has the gall to look hurt. “Why not?”

“Why–” Keith sputters. “Wow. Okay. Okay, you’re actually insane. I’ve been kidnapped by an insane wolf. _ Fuck.” _

“Keith, please, we can talk about this. You haven’t slept–”

Keith glares at him. “And whose fault is that?”

“But I… I patrolled your territory. I stood guard wherever you went. If you had gone home, I would have–” Shiro’s eyes widen with some sort of realization, before they narrow. “Is that why you haven’t been going home? You were scared?”

Keith glares harder, refusing to admit that yes, he was fucking terrified. And still kind of is.

“Who is it?” Shiro snarls, standing and taking a step forward. “I’ll make sure they never bother you again.”

Keith stares at him and backs up some more. “Are we having two different conversations here?”

That gets Shiro to pause. “No, I–” he shakes his head before he looks back at Keith, beseeching. “You’re my mate, Keith. Please let me take care of you.”

_ Mate. _

_ What... _

_ What the fuck? _

“What the fuck,” Keith manages.

“Please,” Shiro says again, close enough now to take Keith’s hands. And Keith _ lets _ him, not wanting to pull away, even calming a little at the touch and proximity and _ what is going on. _ “Please, Keith, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to find you. I know… I know I’m not the ideal mate. But I will do everything I can to make you happy. Please let me try.”

Keith’s mouth works soundlessly for a minute before he comes up with, “and you think we’re mates _ why?” _

Shiro startles. “I knew the minute I scented you. You had to know–”

There is a poignant pause. Shiro’s eyes get very round as his gaze tracks down Keith’s face, then lower until it reaches their joined hands.

“You didn’t…” Shiro sucks in a breath, looking absolutely horrified. “You didn’t know.” He drops Keith’s hands as if burned and stumbles back several steps. “Oh my god, you didn’t _ know. _ And I– I– ”

Keith scowls, crossing his arms defensively and trying to ignore that Shiro moving away makes something in him ache. “I’m not a wolf. I don’t know anything about mates or whatever. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh my _ god. _” 

Keith watches Shiro trip over himself to put some more distance between them with something akin to amusement now that the pounding of his heart has started to calm. “Well… great. Now that that’s settled, I’m leaving. Don’t follow me this time.”

“Wait!” Now Shiro’s the one who looks scared. “Wait, please, let me explain.”

Shiro’s desperation is palpable, and it makes something in Keith jolt, wanting to soothe him. The desire to curl up with Shiro on the couch and nuzzle into him comes back even stronger than before, twisting him up with want and uncertainty. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like what this wolf is making him feel. Like he wants to bare his fucking neck.

And the longer he stays still, the more he realizes he really doesn’t want to leave.

_ Mates. _

The thought sizzles through him.

“Fine,” Keith snaps. He stalks over to the couch and throws himself down on one end. “I’m listening.”

Shiro tentatively comes over and lowers himself down onto the couch as well, pressing back against the arm as far away from Keith as he can possibly get. “I… do you… do you know anything about wolf packs?”

“Not enough, clearly.”

Shiro twists his hands in his lap, drawing attention to them, and for the first time, Keith realizes that he’s wearing a glove over his right hand, while his left hand is bare. “I’m a Shirogane. Does that… ring any bells?”

Keith shakes his head, but he does raise an eyebrow. "Shiro from the Shirogane pack?"

Shiro reddens. "My full name is Takashi Shirogane. Shiro is a nickname."

"Okay," Keith says. He tries not to focus on how cute Shiro is when flustered. He's this big, well-muscled guy who is also a werewolf and he should be intimidating. He _has_ been intimidating, as much as Keith is loath to admit it. Keith shouldn't be finding him cute. "Still haven't heard of the Shiroganes."

“Well.” Shiro clears his throat. “I… how old are you?”

Fucking hell. “I’m twenty-three.”

“And how, um, how long have you been–”

“Oh my god,” Keith hisses. “I am twenty fucking three years old. I have been alive for twenty three years. I have sucked blood for two of them. Still twenty three.”

“Oh. Got it. I–okay.” Shiro nods jerkily. “Oh,” he says again.

“Why,” Keith says, eyes narrowing. “How old are you?”

Shiro shifts, cheeks flaming brighter. “I’m thirty-two.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

“I’m not–” Shiro starts, before he stops and says instead, “I’m… sorry if it bothers you.”

And there it is again, the urge to scoot over on the couch until he’s fully pressed into Shiro’s side and assure him that everything is okay. He can practically sense Shiro’s own desire too, to cuddle him close, and it’s _ weird. _ Like his stomach is full of butterflies.

Keith settles for a mulish, “it doesn’t.” And even just that gets Shiro perking up a little, like he’s been given a pat on the head. Keith’s not thinking about that too hard. “You were explaining?”

“Right! Well, uh, okay.” Shiro clears his throat again. “The Shirogane pack is pretty well known. We’re a big pack, and a strong one, with a lot of allies.” His eyes get a hard, far-away look. “About a decade ago, we caught the attention of a powerful witch. She wanted to be even more powerful, and she thought that she could drain our strength and vitality. So she started hunting us. Catching us to experiment on.”

Keith sucks in a breath as phantom feelings that definitely aren’t his start running through his head. Outrage and hurt and betrayal and fear.

Shiro continues. “She created a spell that latched onto our bloodline and used that to track more of us down, drain us of energy and power. To counteract it, a close ally of the clan created a counter spell, which allowed us to form a feedback loop with our fated mate and regain what we lost. It created a stronger drive for clan members to find their mates, but once they did, the bond broke the witch's curse, until it was completely severed. We were free, for the most part, though we had to keep our guards up. But... then she caught me.” 

Keith’s heart leaps into his throat; he can _ feel _ the visceral terror and anger. Despite himself, he finds himself inching toward Shiro.

Shiro scoots closer on the couch too, seemingly unconscious of the action. “She was furious, because her power and work had effectively been nullified. She took… more. From me. Didn’t want to waste the chance, I guess. But I fought and somehow I-I was able to get free.” Shiro’s voice becomes a growl. “And I killed her.”

“Good,” Keith says vehemently.

Shiro looks up, startled. “What?”

“Good,” Keith says again. He’s a little startled too, but– “After all that, she deserved it. You…” he gets quieter. Something in him knows Shiro. Can taste his guilt and regret, amid the fury. “You didn’t deserve to have to become a murderer. But I’m glad she’s dead.”

Shiro exhales, looking as though Keith just gave him the world. 

Keith squirms uncomfortably. He didn’t do anything to deserve that expression aimed at him. “So,” he prompts, a lot more subdued. He’s invested despite himself. Belief will do that, he guesses. “You uh. You broke the curse?”

“Yes,” Shiro says. “Mostly. There’s a holdover from it. My pack… our need for our mates is still stronger than usual. And so when we find the person or people who are ours we get… focused. Especially at first. It’s, um, it’s given us a reputation a little bit.” He coughs. “And after we make our bond known, all of our instincts drive us to protect and provide and care for.”

_ I patrolled your territory. I stood guard wherever you went. _

_ You won’t have to worry about going hungry again. _

_ I'm here now. I'll take care of you, baby. _

“You didn’t–you didn’t make your bond known,” Keith tries. He attempts to control the warmth blooming in his chest at the thought of– getting that. Getting someone wanting to be there for him. 

Keith has seen a lot, even before he was turned, and being exposed to the paranormal world only solidified his certainty that the world was strange and dangerous and mostly unfair. 

But he also knows that it can be wondrous and magical, and that werewolf fated mates are no joke, for all that they seem like a faerie tale. Bonds are serious and run deep with devotion, and Shiro sounds so earnest and it sounds so good--too good to be true, really, except Keith can _ feel _ the sincerity and honesty, now that he’s paying attention to something other than fear. A thread of light connecting him to… to Shiro.

A bond.

Fucking hell, Shiro’s telling the truth.

Shiro winces and ducks his head. “I’m so sorry. I just--I scented you and I knew, I knew at once, and it made me need to prove myself to you, show you that I could be a good mate. That’s why I started… fuck, god, I guess it really was stalking, wasn’t it?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Keith feels lucky that his voice doesn’t wobble. God, he’s got a _ mate. _

Shiro groans, hiding his head in his hands. “I just wanted to protect you. And I guess I thought… I guess since something in me knew you were mine, I just figured that you knew, too. I could tell you were hungry and– and scared, and so I wanted to make sure your territory was safe. When you stayed out and stayed out and didn’t go home I…” He sounds miserable. “But you being scared was my fault.” 

“I wasn’t that scared,” Keith mutters.

Shiro wilts further. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” Keith doesn’t know what to do with abject apologies. “You fed me, so I guess no harm done.”

“About that.” Shiro sits up straighter. “When was the last time you’d eaten?”

_ Why? _“Literally the night you caught wind of me.”

“But then... why were you so hungry?”

Keith clenches his fists and looks away. “I don’t know what you think of vampires, but we aren’t all murderers. I drink enough to get by. That’s all.”

Shiro’s back to looking horrified. “You don’t use the donor circuit?”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Keith says trying not to glare.

“You…” Shiro seems to realize something. “You don’t have a clan.”

Keith shrugs.

“What about your Sire? How were you turned? Didn’t anyone ever… teach you anything?”

Keith shrugs again. None of this is stuff he likes to talk about. But Shiro should probably know at least some of it. “I don’t know, okay? I was turned on my twenty-first birthday. I don’t really remember it.”

“You don’t…?”

“I was stupid,” Keith bites out. “Okay? I went out by myself to some club. Figured I might as well drink legally and maybe find someone for the night. Met some guy who said some bullshit about me having some sort of inner glow and I let him buy me a drink. I woke up in some hotel room with fangs and a mangled neck, and after I stopped thinking I was crazy, I started trying to figure things out.” 

He doesn’t like how Shiro is staring at him. It makes him feel young and exposed, which in turn has him wanting to dive straight into Shiro’s arms to seek comfort, and even if he’s maybe come to the conclusion that he _ is _ Shiro’s mate or whatever, he’s not going to start this whole arrangement by being needy. 

“You’ve been alone all this time?” Shiro whispers.

Keith shifts, stomach twisting. In any other situation he’d be getting mad, because he doesn’t need pity. But Shiro doesn’t look pitying, he looks _ hurt. _ Like Keith’s pain is his pain. “I got by, okay?”

Shiro swallows.”Can I… can I touch you?”

_ Please. _“Um, sure, I guess.”

Shiro surges forward and before Keith knows it, he’s wrapped up in his arms. He’s warm and solid and it’s such a relief to be held, after everything that’s happened. Keith bites back a whimper and clings despite himself. 

“I’m here now,” Shiro says roughly. “I’m here. You won’t ever be alone again, baby. You won’t ever go hungry again.”

It sounds like a promise.

And Keith…

Keith somehow believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> Shiro introduces Keith to his pack and they all accept him with open arms, Keith is wary at first but eventually warms up, and Shiro’s grandmother introduces Keith to the Blades, a vampire clan who takes him under their wing (ha) and teaches him more and gives him a bigger support system, and one of the Blades recognizes his bloodline and tells Krolia who is also a Blade and left when Keith was a baby to protect him from a vampire war thing and has been searching for him for years and happy Keith with happy family yay. HAPPY HALLOWEEN.
> 
> (Talk to me about sheith on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/justsayins))


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